


Defrosting

by Nice_Valkyrie



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 05:21:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14205966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nice_Valkyrie/pseuds/Nice_Valkyrie
Summary: Miles doesn’t see the point in denying himself. Maybe he’ll learn more than he anticipates.





	Defrosting

**Author's Note:**

> *shrugs* I did it

There’s a way that Kimblee looks at Miles that makes him uncomfortable. It’s not outright contempt or lust, but definitely a little of both, a kind of brazen assessment that half makes Miles’ skin crawl and half turns him on. It’s unfortunate that from the moment Kimblee arrived at Briggs Miles had barely any free time with which to talk himself out of the inconvenient attraction.

But if Miles is being honest with himself, Kimblee would draw his attention even if he didn’t insist on clinging to Miles like a burr. The dangerous allure goes deeper than that.

So when, a day later, Kimblee follows Miles into his room, Miles isn’t really surprised by what happens next.

Kimblee’s on him almost before he can get the door shut. He kisses fiercely, wetly, pushing himself up on his toes to reach Miles’ mouth. Miles doesn’t protest, even though Kimblee tastes like the sludgy coffee. He’s not really in the business of lying to himself about what he wants.

But there are other concerns. He breaks the kiss to say, “Are you sure you’re feeling up to something like this? You were injured—”

“Never mind that,” says Kimblee. He’s already fumbling at the buttons on Miles’ coat, pressing so close that Miles can feel him getting hard. “We both want this.”

“I’m serious,” Miles says.

“Shut up,” Kimblee says. “Take your clothes off.”

Miles doesn’t like the way Kimblee talks to him, even when they’re not getting naked with each other. He doesn’t like the way Kimblee’s watching him strip, either—calculating and scientific, like he’s observing a museum specimen instead of anticipating a fuck—but he’s getting hard anyway.

Kimblee’s wearing so many clothes. Miles has a few layers on under the Briggs-issue uniform jacket, but they’re woolen and rough, designed for practicality with no eye to aesthetics; he’s happy to discard them on the floor. As Kimblee sheds his suit his layers are thin and soft and slippery, like peeling away the petals of some kind of pale flower.

When he’s down to nothing but his shirt, his gaze suddenly goes glassy, and he sits heavily on the bed. But he hasn’t said to stop, and Miles isn’t looking for more hostility, so he ignores this and goes to find the lubricant he keeps in his dresser for jerking off in the frigid Northern air. He kneels on the bed beside Kimblee and opens the little container. Before he can ask which way they’re going to do this, Kimblee lies back, peeks at him with one eye, and inches his legs apart.

“Go ahead,” he says, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Miles smears some lubricant over his fingers, but doesn’t move in immediately. “Let me warm this a little first.”

Kimblee chuckles. “How considerate.”

There’s already a sheen of sweat on his skin, though he hasn’t yet done anything that should warrant it. He’s taking his time opening his shirt, his hands a little clumsy, and Miles spots the edge of a large, round patch of discolored skin on the left side of Kimblee’s stomach. It looks freshly scarred. Is that the injury that landed him in the hospital?

“Not having doubts, are you?” says Kimblee.

Miles shakes himself free of his trance, leans over Kimblee, and slowly presses a finger inside him.

Kimblee’s still not fully hard yet, but his cock starts to twitch as Miles slides his finger carefully in and out. It’s strange to see Kimblee like this. He’s making soft little sounds of enjoyment, and his hands linger on the front of his shirt, grasping its edges, the rest of his skin mushroom-white. He looks almost handsome. Almost vulnerable.

But only almost, because he squints at Miles and says, “Is that really all I’m going to need?”

Miles adds a second finger obediently, drawing a hiss of pleasure. Kimblee opens his mouth again, but before he can speak Miles pushes a third one in.

“That’s more like it,” Kimblee says, his voice a little strained but unmistakably pleased. His eyes are closed and his shoulders tense and he’s still not touching his cock, even though it’s thickening quickly now. Miles smothers the urge to take it in his mouth and feel it swelling for himself. Instead, he strokes his own cock lightly and listens to Kimblee moan until he can’t wait any longer.

“Are you ready?” he says, slipping his fingers out.

Kimblee nods and sits up. He turns himself over slowly, shedding his shirt, and the reason he can’t twist around too fast becomes obvious: there’s a knot of damaged skin on his back that matches the one on his front. Whatever Scar stabbed him with must have gone straight through. Miles never got all the details on the attack, but he knows Kimblee left the hospital mere hours after Miles visited and observed him gravely injured. If he suffered that kind of injury so recently, how can he—?

“Come here,” Kimblee says. He’s on his hands and knees, and suddenly there are far more interesting places on his body to pay attention to.

Miles slicks himself and gets in position, and moans in shock when he slides in easily, his cock abruptly buried in the tight heat of Kimblee’s body. It must be too much—Miles has to force himself to hold still—but then Kimblee growls in pleasure.

“Hard,” he demands, rocking his hips. “Now. I don’t want to walk straight for a week.”

“You’re insane,” Miles says. “You just got out of the hospital. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Kimblee laughs, reaching for the tie in his hair. “But you hate me, don’t you?”

He gets his hair free, and it fans over his shoulders like a great silky black wing. Miles can’t say he isn’t tempted. But Kimblee obviously wants his hair pulled, and that’s reason enough for Miles to resist the urge. He tightens his grip on Kimblee’s hips instead and tries to concentrate on thrusting slowly.

“Bastard,” Kimblee mutters, and then he threads his own fingers through his hair and yanks on it himself with a little gasp.

Now Miles is certain Kimblee’s only trying to provoke him. “I’m not cruel.”

Kimblee laughs and keeps tugging. “It’s not, ah, cruelty if they’re asking for it.” He has to put his hand back down to steady himself, and when he recovers his balance, he tosses his hair over his shoulder and runs his fingers down the exposed skin of his throat in an obvious suggestion.

Miles swallows. “No.”

“Really?” Kimblee says. “You don’t want to abuse me at all, Major? I find that hard to believe.”

His voice is thoughtful, if a little breathless, with an edge of condescension. But he’s sweating far more than his position calls for, and his arms are trembling from holding himself up. Even if Kimblee does deserve roughness as pleasure or punishment, Miles isn’t heartless enough to give it to him in this state.

“That’s not what you need right now,” says Miles.

The authority in his voice seems to get Kimblee’s attention. “Oh?”

Miles pulls Kimblee’s hips back against his own, then hooks an arm under his chest. “Lie down,” he commands. “I’ll go with you.”

Kimblee doesn’t resist; he must be more tired than he’s letting on. Miles follows as Kimblee lowers himself to his belly. They’re much closer like this, and Miles leans forward. “You lost a lot of blood, didn’t you? You’re a little weaker than you’re comfortable with.”

He drags the tip of his tongue along the edge of Kimblee’s ear, and Kimblee’s breath hitches.

“If I tell you we need to take it slow,” murmurs Miles, “we’re going to take it slow.”

Kimblee shivers violently, but rolls his shoulders and arches an eyebrow and purrs, “Yes, sir.”

The change in Kimblee’s demeanor is startling. Miles feels almost dizzy himself, something powerful coursing through his veins. He’s done a little play in the bedroom before, of course, but never with someone like this—someone who was fighting him every step of the way, someone he would have guessed hated submitting to another more than anything. But then, maybe that was what Kimblee was trying to goad him into all along.

He slides his hands over Kimblee’s shoulders, pinning his arms to the bed. “Don’t move.”

“Then don’t stop,” Kimblee whispers.

Miles couldn’t deny him even if he wanted to. He sinks in again and again, long strokes that squeeze every inch of his cock. Kimblee’s breath is fast and shallow, almost like he’s frightened, but his low moans and the way he’s grabbing the sheets indicate otherwise. And when Miles slips his hand under Kimblee’s stomach to feel his cock, he’s harder than ever, and starts pushing back immediately.

Miles puts his weight on Kimblee. “I thought I told you not to move.”

Kimblee’s lip curls, but he goes still with a whimper that tests Miles’ resolve to keep still; he has to bite the inside of his cheek to regain focus. When he’s calm again and satisfied, Miles eases up a bit and gets back to it, wrapping his fingers around Kimblee’s cock and allowing him a little friction with each thrust.

At this angle, his arms burn, and the steady rhythm gets progressively difficult to maintain. It’s not going to be long for either of them now—Miles can feel it approaching hot between his legs, and Kimblee’s starting to writhe under him despite his orders, his noises higher-pitched. Miles wants to drive in harder, he wants to, but there’s something much more satisfying about making Kimblee get off this way instead, quiet and soft and inevitable.

“You want to know,” Miles pants, “what makes this so good?”

“Tell me,” Kimblee says.

Miles brushes Kimblee’s hair to the side, exposing his throat again. “You’re no better than I am. You’re just horny and wanted to fuck, same as me.”

Kimblee’s eyes flash dangerously, and for a moment Miles thinks he’s gone too far—but then Kimblee only laughs shakily. “Like an animal, is that it?”

Miles ducks down and sinks his teeth into the back of Kimblee’s neck. It’s a gentle bite, but Miles doesn’t let go, doesn’t stop thrusting, and Kimblee gasps and tenses and shudders as he comes in Miles’ hand and sheets.

Miles feels it happen and has to pull himself away. He grits his teeth and tries to stay his course, just a few moments more, just—and then he groans as Kimblee looks up at him. Kimblee looks dizzy and well-fucked, his thin lips parted and a high flush in his cheeks, and maybe it’s only the slow pace but when Miles comes it’s hard and hot and feels like it’s going to last forever.

His breathing’s heavy, afterward, his blood pounding in his face. Miles pulls out and lies back to give Kimblee some space, propping himself on his elbows. Kimblee pushes himself up gingerly.

“Do you need any help?”

“No.” Kimblee goes straight for his shirt, although he takes the time to wipe off his stomach and chest with a clean corner of the sheet before starting to dress. He doesn’t seem to have anything else to say. That’s disappointing—but, Miles concedes, perhaps not entirely unexpected.

As Miles lies there, he’s struck again by how odd Kimblee’s injury is. Something doesn’t make sense, the internal damage not aligning with the scarring on the skin. Not to mention the timeframe. Miles can’t think clearly enough right now. How is Kimblee up and fucking already?

“No need to ogle, Major,” Kimblee says. “Unless you _want_ me to think of you as an animal.”

Back to being prickly? Miles flushes. There’s a small part of him that wishes he hadn’t been so kind, but he’s a little ashamed to recognize it, so he says nothing. Compassion is worthwhile, he reminds himself, no matter how ungrateful Kimblee is.

And maybe—because Kimblee’s already got that assessing look in his eyes again—maybe next time Miles will be able to get another look at that injury and figure out what Kimblee’s game really is.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Warmth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14144262/chapters/32597349) by frozenCinders for the inspiration.


End file.
